Shoot Me
by psychegloom
Summary: He wronged her, punished her for a crime she didn't commit. Death was better than going another decade without her, knowing that she hated him, and that she was in the arms of another.


A/N: So, this is a completely random oneshot, it came to me with a song I heard.

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"Bottle of whiskey, straight up," said the bartender sliding the bottle of whiskey over to an ominous-looking man in black. He wore a long black trench coat, he had a disheveled appearance, his orange hair fell over his face, almost, hiding his eyes, if it weren't for the fact that his amber orbs were so intense, one wouldn't even notice them through the shaggy hair.

He took a drink of whiskey straight from the bottle, then lit a cigarette, took a deep puff, and allowed the smoke to come out of his nostrils slowly. He looked around the bar, it was very old, the wooden chairs, tables, and counters seemed to be withering away. It was a bar he was all too familiar with, for it became his second home ever since she left…ever since he lost her. It always empty Sunday nights, and he was the only one there.

Ten years had passed, ten years since it all happened. It was difficult to believe it had been so long, years passed like minutes, one minute he was with her, her hand in his, the next minute she was married off to the most unexpected person, and he was here, drowning himself in cheap booze. She was in another's arms, he made love to her whenever he pleased, and she brought him breakfast in bed. As for him, he slept with his dog, and breakfast came at two in the afternoon, when his hangover began to fade away.

Ever since her…his beloved moon…he had known many women, he was a good-looking man, he was aware of that; it wasn't difficult for him to get women. _But they weren't her_. He had thrown away many opportunities at potential relationships. After ruining so many women, soiling them, using them for sex, he settled for whores, it was better that way, it was blunt, and straight to the point, he used them for pleasure, threw them away the next day, and it didn't matter to them, because they already knew better. He came to the decision of not becoming involved with normal women when he became the first man in a young woman's life, she professed her feelings of love to him, he took her roughly, as he had many women. When she started crying, he realized his mistake, she was so young, her skin, her hair, they reminded him so much of _her_, and he couldn't bear to see her cry.

He, Ichigo, laughed to himself bitterly, how low he had sunk, he was pitiful, he went from being one of the world's most sought after bachelors, to this pathetic excuse of a man. All for a woman, a woman that with a single look of her eyes brought him to his knees, and with a single smile jeopardized his resolve to punish her, punish her for something she never did on the first place. A fact he was not aware of until it was already too late.

She was gone now, and he was a mess, he knew he deserved it, he hurt her, he hurt her so much, he punished her…and the poor girl never even knew why.

"Oi, Ichigo, there's someone here to see you," said the bartender.

"Tell them to go away."

"Still the same asshole I see, nothing has changed," came an all to familiar voice from behind him; his eyes widened, his cigarette fell out of his mouth. It couldn't be…

"Did you even miss me? I should have thought not," the voice was bitter, just like the last time he had heard it. He closed his eyes, and composed himself before turning to see her.

"Rukia."

"Ichigo." They stared at each other for a long time. Amber met violet. Regret resent. Passion met disgust. Love met hate.

"Paul, leave us alone please," he said; his gaze on her did not waver. The bartender nodded and left the two alone.

"What brings you to Provence?"

"I'm here to kill you, Ichigo Kurosaki," she took a revolver out from her jacket, and pointed it straight at his face.

"I knew this would happen eventually," he sighed; he took a drink of his whiskey, his intense eyes fixed on hers, "though I must admit, I never thought they'd send you."

"I was the perfect candidate, you see, no one hates you more than I."

"I see, this is it then, you're going to shoot me. I'm going to die and you'll never know the entire truth."

"The truth? Someone like you knows the meaning of such a word?"

"I do now, ever since I got to know you, and I realized my mistake."

"It's too late to apologize now, and to be completely honest, I don't care much for the truth, my life is complete as it is, I don't need your lies troubling me."

"Well, they shouldn't trouble you…if they are lies…" he said walking towards her; she stepped back.

"Don't come any closer," she said pointing her gun at him again; he smirked and walked towards her, "I swear I'll shoot!"

"Do it then Rukia…shoot me." She added more pressure to the trigger; Ichigo smirked at hearing the sound of the clicking, and walked closer.


End file.
